Knights of the Round Table
by enemytosleep
Summary: A would-be king assembles his men - then they get really, really drunk. Written for fic contest's Vato Falman prompt.


Vato Falman, normally a quiet and reserved sort of man, sang boldly with the confidence only alcohol could bring, his voice ringing in the empty street:

"Excalibur! Excalibur!

A sword fit for a king!

Imma lookin' for it.

I'm going to California."

"California? Isn't it Camelot?" Breda asked, his own words a little slurred. Falman _never_ screwed up his facts. Either Falman was more wasted than they'd thought, or Breda had been the one who'd had a few too many. Breda was pretty sure he wasn't _that _drunk - it must be Falman.

"That's what I said!" Falman exclaimed, red-faced.

"You are so wasted, man," Havoc said, coming up behind Vato to sling an arm around his shoulders. Havoc's legs were still new to him, and he was stumbling just as bad as Falman was, despite being a bar veteran. Breda could already see his own future: picking the pair of them up when they took a tandem face dive.

"Excalibur! Excalibur!" Falman sang.

"Again?" Breda whined.

"Excalibur! Excalibur!" he continued, completely ignoring Breda.

"A sword fit for a king!" Fuery sang.

"Oh, not him too," Breda muttered. His protest was lost to the echoing, deafening chorus.

Havoc met Breda's gaze and smiled. It was good to have the team whole again. A little celebration was only natural.

x.x.x

"What does everybody drink?" Mustang asked the table.

Vato Falman was never much of a drinker, but tonight was to celebrate the captain's return. It had taken nearly four months of therapy after Dr. Marcoh's treatment, but now Havoc was able enough to get back behind a desk beneath the brigadier general. Finally, the team was back together again, and Mustang was treating them all at The Gnat's Chuff just outside Eastern Headquarters. Vato might as well join in.

"We'll have a round of the house lager," Havoc told the barmaid cheerily.

"Some cold ones'll be nice after the heat today. Please tell me they'll get us some fans?" Breda pointed the question toward Mustang.

"I'll see what I can do," Hawkeye answered.

Vato undid the top buttons of his jacket as the girl returned to the table with a tray full of frothy mugs. When everyone had taken their glass, Mustang held his up and cheered, "For moving forward."

"For making it through," Breda said.

"For staying together," Fuery added.

"For new friends," Havoc said.

"And for the lives lost," Hawkeye added.

Vato simply raised his glass to the others and smiled.

"To the end goal," Mustang said. Then they drank. A lot.

x.x.x

The lager was way stronger than Breda had thought it would be, one of those deceptively strong eastern-brewed varieties he typically avoided because frankly, he liked drinking more than he liked being drunk. He'd managed to catch himself before he'd gotten too far gone. He was one of the lucky ones.

Havoc wasn't too bad, though he'd grown up on this shit, hadn't he? Poor Fuery was wobbling in his seat, seemingly using his mug as an anchor with both hands wrapped firmly around it. Hawkeye, of course, was wisely nursing the first half of her original pint, sharp as ever. The brigadier general? He was bright red and hazy-eyed, laughing far too loudly, sometimes apparently at nothing in particular. Perhaps most shockingly, Falman was right there with him. Breda wondered what Briggs had been like. General Armstrong sure was hot.

Had he said that aloud? Huh, it seemed he had.

"Listen guys, General Armstrong isn't just some pretty face," Mustang explained. _Oh boy, here we go_, Breda thought.

Falman piped in, "She's a courageous and fearsome. Fearful. Fierce." Apparently, he was having some fun with his words.

"She _is_ fierce," Mustang agreed.

"There aren't enough hot women in the military, right, Fuery?" Havoc clapped the smaller man on the back, nearly sending him toppling. Breda might need to have a talk with good ol' Havo about Fuery.

"There are _plenty_ of beautiful women in the military!" Mustang continued.

"Yeah!" Falman said excitedly.

"Sir, I think it's time we brought you home." Hawkeye laid her hand on Mustang's elbow.

"Olivier Armstrong, she's in a class of her own, yeah, but take a look at-"

"All right, we're leaving now." Hawkeye said, standing and gathering Mustang up. She was smiling, though, in her own quiet way. Hopefully the brigadier general hadn't drunk himself out of a golden opportunity.

Breda silently wished Mustang luck as Hawkeye guided him away from the table. Then he decided he should probably order a sandwich - he was totally drunker than he'd thought.

x.x.x

"Hey, Falman, are you all right?"

Vato heard the question, registered it - but he couldn't formulate an answer just yet. They'd been talking about women, but then they'd gotten into their plans for the future: Kain was looking to move out of the dorms into his own apartment. Havoc was actually managing to maintain a romantic relationship for more than a week. Breda had acquired a new six-string Dreadnought. So many positive things had come for them now. It was a bit overwhelming. He wiped his face with his hand, only to discover it was already wet. Was he crying? He had good reason to cry.

"Hey." A touch on his shoulder. "Falman? You okay?"

The room was spinning a little too fast. He'd tried to get Fuery to fix it, but the kid knew more about radios than cars. What was he talking about? He looked up to see his teammates concerned faces. They shouldn't be worrying tonight. Tonight was a happy night!

"I'm so glad to see you on your own two feet again," Falman said to Havoc, grabbing his coat sleeves to help steady himself as he'd leaned too far forward. That was ataxia. "It's good to see everyone on their own two feet again." He stumbled.

"I think it's time to call it a night," Breda said. "We'll walk you back to the dorms."

"It's so good to be home, guys. Welcome back."

"It is," Havoc smiled.


End file.
